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Many consider it the most iconic entrance in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was forged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. He was a poor student at his new school. Then, during in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Quite so. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply